


The Longest Odds

by leaper182



Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Back to the Future: The Game, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: 44th Hunger Games, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Gen, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Implied and Overt Transphobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182/pseuds/leaper182
Summary: Marty McFly just had two more years to go before he could start thinking about the future.But then the odds shifted, and the only future he has to think about now is whether he'll make it home alive.





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to [futurerae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/futurerae) for beta-reading this for me. I don't think I would've gotten it off the ground with your assistance.
> 
> And thanks to [irisbleufic](http://irisbleufic.tumblr.com) for talking with me all that time ago about the original idea. It took a while, but it's here.
> 
> [Note: irisbleufic can also be found here on AO3 under the same username.]

It was early June, but the summer heat had already started a few weeks ago, chasing just about everybody indoors. Today, it was punishing. Even at eleven o'clock in the morning, the square was sweltering. Marty tugged at his collar, trying not to think about the sweat running down his back. All the other seventeen-year-old kids around him looked like they were trying to do the same, with similar results.

On the stage, he could see Mayor Thomas, his suit already starting to darken under the sun, sitting at the first of the four chairs, waving a paper fan in front of his dripping face and puffing.

Right next to him was the escort for District Three, looking like she was starting to wilt in her deep purple dress and elaborate hat.

Clara Clayton, a young woman with thin features who looked to be around twenty, had become their escort two years ago. The colors she wore each year were always dark, and whenever Marty had seen her smile on TV, it always looked genuine, if a little sad. There were worse escorts, he guessed.

As more kids filed in and headed for their sections, Marty saw the two empty seats reserved for the victors and found himself wondering where they were waiting.

Just as the town square’s clock chimed eleven, the mayor checked a silver pocketwatch from his coat pocket, and then rose from his seat to begin the yearly speech. It wasn’t interesting to begin with, and with the mayor’s voice droning on, it wasn’t until Ms. Clayton was introduced that Marty even noticed where they were in the proceedings.

Ms. Clayton, as dignified and gracious as ever, nodded once to the mayor and began her own scripted speech. It was an honor to be here in District Three, where nothing ever grows, and it’s too hot to do anything but starve and work yourself to death. Gracious smile, and then back to the mayor.

The mayor thanked Ms. Clayton as usual, and then read off the list of victors from District Three since the Hunger Games began. In forty-four years, there had been four. Two of them died before Marty had been born.

Doc was the first one announced. The suit he wore fit him like a second skin, emphasizing long legs and his broad shoulders. His hair -- red with shocks of blond -- was swept back, giving him the appearance of a school teacher who’d gotten caught in a flash fire. He mounted the stage with a severe look on his face, like this entire exercise was beneath him, and that he was positive no one would ever measure up to his exacting standards.

To anybody who didn’t know him, Doc looked like a sneering bastard who hated everybody. The trouble was, Marty had known him for the past six years. As much as Doc tried to hide it, this yearly ritual tore him up inside. 

Beetee was next. He was the same age as Doc, even though he’d won three years before Doc had. He was a heavyset man with dark skin and thick-framed glasses, which he sometimes looked underneath of in order to examine something in his hand. He looked unperturbed by the heat, his suit made of some light fabric that looked more durable than fashionable.

Marty bit his lip, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking down at the ground. He nudged a loose rock from the sandy dirt with his foot, and watched it roll a few times before it came to a stop.

"Marty, there you are."

Marty looked up, startled at being addressed. "Jennifer. Hey."

Jennifer smiled, moving next to him and threading her arm through his. "How you holding up?"

Marty tried to smile, but when he saw Doc leaning in to whisper something in Ms. Clayton's ear, it dropped. "I had to take more tesserae this year."

Jennifer winced sympathetically. "Your dad?"

Marty nodded. "The factory doctor thinks he's got whooping cough. It was bad enough this week that he’s had to stay home." He didn't need to add anything further. A missed week of wages meant starving, especially for a family of five.

"What about Dave and Linda?" Jennifer asked, rubbing her hand up and down Marty's arm.

"Linda aged out this year," Marty mumbled. "And ever since they cracked down on tesserae allotments..." He grimaced. "It doesn't look good."

Marty listened to the annual propaganda film with half an ear, concentrating on Jennifer hugging his arm. As hot and sweaty as he felt, it was nice to have a friend holding him.

Jennifer leaned over and kissed him on the cheek gently. "It'll be all right, Marty. There's kids with bigger families than yours." She nodded over to the two enormous glass balls on the stage, filled with small slips of paper. "Look at how many people are in this year."

Marty looked at the ball on the left, the one with all the boys' names, and found his gaze sliding over to the right. "How many do you have in?"

"I'll be fine," Jennifer murmured.

Marty managed a smile, even as his stomach churned. "Tell you what. If we make it out of this Reaping together, I'll show you what I've been working on with Doc."

Jennifer smiled back, looking just as nervous as Marty felt. “That sounds great.”

"And now, we begin," Clara declared from the stage, drawing Marty's attention to the front. "Ladies first."

She walked over to the ball, reached deep into the middle, and removed a slip of paper. She returned to the microphone, opening it carefully.

The intake of breath from the entire crowd was almost a living thing. 

And then Ms. Clayton announced, "Jennifer Parker."

Marty's stomach dropped. He turned to Jennifer, who had gritted her teeth and let her hands drop from his arm. "Jen--"

Jennifer shook her head quickly, and headed for the center aisle. She walked in slow, even strides, and mounted the stage.

Clara took Jennifer's hand gently and drew her over to the microphone before addressing the audience. “Are there any volunteers?”

Marty stared helplessly. Jennifer was the oldest of her and her little brother, was the daughter of Peacekeepers. Nobody in their right mind would--

"I volunteer!"

The voice was somewhere between a roar and a thunderclap. Every single person in the square turned and stared.

The girl -- it had to be a girl, because only girls were allowed to volunteer for a girl who'd been reaped -- was six-and-a-half feet tall and dressed like an old woman. The scarf around her neck was striking, pale blue against her light brown skin.

Ms. Clayton and the adults on the stage looked dumbfounded. Jennifer's eyes widened, and then she clapped a hand over her mouth.

The girl made her way to the stage, mounting the steps and nodding once to Jennifer before offering a broad, powerful hand with scarred knuckles to Ms. Clayton.

"I--" Ms. Clayton accepted the handshake, looking startled before turning back to the microphone with a tentative smile. "What's your name, miss?"

"Tera Parker," the mountain of a girl said in a deep voice that she tried to soften. It didn't hide the fact that she sounded like a bullhorn.

And that's when Marty recognized her. Well, he'd known the girl as Andon Howard for six years, a kid who had practically been destined for the rare earth mines before he started acing the end-of-year tests left, right, and center. But this had been the first time that Marty had seen him -- her -- in street clothes.

"Parker?" Ms. Clayton latched onto the surname like a lifeline. She turned to Jennifer and then back to Andon. “Are the two of you… related, dear?"

With the two of them side by side, just about anyone in the audience -- whether in the square or watching the events live -- could see that they were as different as patch cables and rationed sandwiches.

Andon nodded. "She’s my little sister." She rested a hand on Jennifer's shoulder. 

Jennifer's breath hitched once, and then she burst into tears.

"All right, dear, you can step down,” Ms. Clayton said gently to her before nodding to a pair of Peacekeepers. The two soldiers led her down the steps from the stage, and back into the audience. But instead of running to her father who was out of uniform and standing on the sidelines, Jennifer headed straight for Marty and threw herself into his arms.

Marty couldn’t say that he was surprised. While he hadn’t known Andon to say hello, Jennifer had been hanging around him-- her for months. And it looked like they were close enough for Andon-- Tera to save her life.

“I’m sorry, Jen,” he murmured, feeling stupid that he couldn’t assure her it’ll be all right, that everything will be fine.

Jennifer’s shoulders shook, and she let out a choked sob.

It was while holding her, petting her hair and stroking her back that Marty heard his name. For a second, he thought that maybe it had been one of the kids nearby -- possibly that Jennifer’s little brother might’ve braved the crowd to come see her.

But no. All the other seventeen-year-olds were staring at them, and then Ms. Clayton cleared her throat into the microphone.

“Will Martin McFly please step forward?” she asked.


	2. Farewells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being reaped had been terrible. Now Marty has to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [futurerae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/futurerae/) for all her hard work and patience. Thank you.
> 
> Warning for accidental misgendering and implied transphobia.

For this being his first time inside the Justice Building, it was certainly memorable.

Marty had lost sight of his fellow tribute almost as soon as they’d been ushered inside, and after walking down a few hallways, he was deposited in a room, the Peacekeeper standing watch outside shutting the door firmly behind him.

The room was large, with a plush blue carpet that felt almost springy under Marty’s feet. There were a few overstuffed armchairs and a purple, velvet couch in the center, with large bay windows behind it that let the sunlight of what promised to be a scorching afternoon filter in. There were paintings on the walls depicting all kinds of things that Marty had never seen before.

Surrounded by all of this opulence, Marty could feel how grimy he was, even though he’d taken a bath just before the Reaping.

He’d only just sat down on the couch, one of his hands stroking the velvet over and over again when the door opened, and his family came in.

Marty was engulfed in a hug as soon as he stood up, his mother stroking his hair and sobbing in his ear. “Oh, Marty--” she managed before a fresh wave of sobs overtook her. As soon as his father gently pulled them apart and made her sit down, Marty was facing his brother and sister.

“You were supposed to be safe,” Dave said numbly, staring at Marty as though he’d forgotten how to blink. “We worked the system. You were supposed to be safe.”

Marty sighed and shook his head. “It worked fine, Dave. It’s just that I’m two years younger than Linda, is all.” He turned to Linda, startled to find silent tears running down her face. “Linda?”

Linda shook her head. “I’m not hugging you.”

Marty nodded. Linda hated ‘mushy stuff’ from just about everybody -- their parents, their goofy brother, him. Out of all of the McFlys, Linda was the one who never broke down. She would hate him if he mentioned the tears on her face, he was sure.

“Linda,” Mom began, angry and congested from all the crying, “your brother--”

“Hugging you means you’re not coming back,” Linda said firmly, as if Mom hadn’t spoken. “Emmett Brown isn’t about to let his pet lab assistant die on him, and you’re too much of a mama’s boy to make Mom cry anymore than she already has.”

“Now, Linda, this is a hard time for all of us,” Dad began in between wheezing coughs, but Linda rolled her eyes.

“You’re too much of a pain in my ass to die now,” Linda continued, narrowing her eyes at Marty. “Prove me right.”

Marty swallowed around the lump that had suddenly developed in his throat, and gave his sister as large and obnoxious a grin as he could manage under the circumstances. “Count on it.”

Linda nodded, and started to leave before she turned back and gave Marty a long, calculating look.

“What?” Marty frowned.

Linda reached out and ruffled Marty’s hair vigorously.

“Hey, quit it!” Marty batted at her hands quickly, trying to stop the onslaught. “What was that for?”

“Incentive,” Linda said with a smirk.

Marty narrowed his eyes at her before he remembered a conversation from when they were little. Linda had done the same thing to him after Dave had done it first, and Marty had loudly declared that the next person who messed with his hair was going to be in a heap of trouble after he caught up with them.

He snorted at Linda, and set about putting his hair to rights with his fingers. “You’re lucky I have to go to the Games first.”

“You can _try_ to pay me back when you get home,” Linda said, breezing out of the room with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“There are times when I’m sure I’ll never understand her.” Dad said, coughing a few times as he got up from the couch, frowning after her. “The least she could’ve said before she left was that she loved you, son.”

Marty looked up at him with a smile. “Didn’t you hear her? She just did.”

Dad looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. “I guess she did at that.” He hesitated for a moment before taking Marty by the shoulders. “Marty, I… I’m not good at this.”

“It’s okay, Dad.” Marty touched one of his father’s hands gently. “Really.”

Dad shook his head, wheezing as he spoke. “There’s twenty-four of you in that arena, son.”

Marty heard the unspoken, ‘and only one comes home’. “Dad…”

Dad took a few labored breaths before gathering Marty in his arms and hugging him tightly. “Try to be as careful as you can,” he said into Marty’s hair.

“I will, Dad,” Marty said into his father’s starched shirt. “Promise.”

Dad let out a few harsh coughs, but with Marty pressed against him, it felt like his coughing was going to break him to pieces. Dad quickly let him go, stepping back and covering his mouth with both hands as the coughing got harder. Soon, he was edging backwards blindly until he collapsed on the couch. When Marty stepped forward to offer some help, he shook his head and waved him towards his mother.

Mom looked from Dad to Marty, and then her eyes welled up with more tears. Marty didn’t hesitate to hug her.

“Oh, Marty…” she whispered, petting his hair over and over.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Marty murmured. They both knew it wasn’t, that nothing about this messed up situation was okay, but Marty felt like he needed to say something reassuring. “It’ll be okay.”

Before she could reply, the door opened and a Peacekeeper stepped inside. “Time.”

“Wait, was that the full hour?” Marty blurted out, stepping back from his mother. Another Peacekeeper came in quietly, gesturing for Mom to leave before turning to Dad and helping him off the couch with surprising gentleness.

“Marty, I love you!” Mom said quickly before she was ushered out. Dad, still coughing, lifted a hand to him in farewell as Marty stared.

Whatever had frozen Marty in place when the Peacekeeper had entered the room, it disappeared when his father lifted a hand to him in farewell. He made it to the door just as the Peacekeeper was about to close it, grabbing the Peacekeeper’s arm quickly. “That wasn’t the full hour, was it?”

The Peacekeeper, a woman with iron-grey hair and a face that looked more like the side of a mountain, shook her head. “You have more visitors.”

“Oh,” Marty said blankly. “Right. Sorry.”

She looked pointedly at his hand, and Marty snatched it away and stepped back with his hands raised.

She nodded once, and closed the door firmly behind her.

Marty had heard about the hour that tributes got to say goodbye to their loved ones, but he hadn’t realized it was this strictly regimented. Who were the other visitors? And there was more than one? For a wild moment, he thought Doc was going to see him, but that didn’t make any sense, since he was going to be seeing Doc on the train to the Capitol, and _in_ the Capitol, and all the way up to when he went into--

Marty sat down heavily in one of the armchairs, trying not to think about it.

The door opened then, and Jennifer made a beeline for him, her face red and her cheeks wet with tears. When Marty quickly got to his feet, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.

Marty hugged her back without hesitation. He wanted to assure her that things would be okay, but seeing as how the last victor from District Three had come home seventeen years ago, he felt a bit sick to his stomach when he tried to speak.

Jennifer pulled away, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Marty, I--”

Marty shook his head. “It’s okay, Jen. Really.”

Jennifer shook her head, her lips twisting. “I-- Marty, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose you -- either of you --” She backed away a step. “Tera…”

Marty tried not to wince. Yeah, Tera. “She’s, um…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s really something.”

Jennifer looked at him sharply, like she was expecting him to say something else. After a moment, her expression softened. “Yeah.” She tried to sniff quietly. “She is.”

“I think she’s got a shot at winning,” Marty tried to say encouragingly. It sounded a little weak, even to him. “Don’t you?”

Jennifer let out a wavering sigh. “Marty… nobody’s visited her.”

“Huh?” Marty blinked. “But I thought…”

Jennifer shook her head miserably. “We’re not her family of record. I don’t even know if Mom and Dad would go see her if we were.”

“But they’re not on-duty, are they? Why wouldn’t they--” It clicked suddenly. “Jen, what’s going on?”

Jennifer started to shake her head, and then sighed heavily. “It-- Marty, you have to understand. Today’s the first day that she’s been herself.” At Marty’s startled look, she looked over at the couch. “Mind if I sit?”

“No, go ahead,” Marty said quickly, sitting next to her. “What do you mean, ‘been herself’? You mean he’s--”

“ _She_.”

Marty leaned back as far as he could while still sitting on the couch, holding his hands up in surrender. “She! Sorry!”

Jennifer scowled at him before sighing. “She’s never worn a dress in public before today.” Her gaze fell to her lap. “She was worried about getting beaten up.”

Marty started rubbing the back of his neck before something occurred to him. “Wouldn’t her family have protected her?” His eyes widened when Jennifer shook her head. “What the _hell_?”

Jennifer bit her lower lip hard before she took a deep breath. “The second she volunteered for me… Last week, she’d said she’d gotten into a fight with her father, but she made it sound like it was nothing.”

Marty had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going. “How bad?”

“I could see her mom and dad from the stage.” Her jaw tightened. “It was like they were _ashamed_.”

Marty winced. “Geez.” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck again. He wasn’t sure what else to say other than, “Sorry.”

Jennifer looked at him for a long moment before she shook her head. “It’s fine. I just… don’t know what to do. I can’t just leave you when you’re about to go…” Her voice trailed off.

“You said you haven’t seen her yet?” Marty asked gently. “Because of you not being..?”

“Her family of record.” Jennifer’s shoulders sagged. “The Peacekeepers in charge of her detail said I wasn’t family, no matter what she’d said on the stage.”

Marty scowled. “You’re more her family than anybody else in District Three, Jen.” He squeezed her shoulders gently. “Go sit with her.”

Jennifer lifted her head, her eyes wet again. “But--”

Marty shook his head. “My parents already came, along with Dave and Linda. And I’ll see Doc on the train in a little bit, so I won’t be leaving all of my family behind.” He squeezed her shoulders more firmly. “Go see your sister.”

Jennifer bit her lower lip, and threw her arms around Marty’s neck. “Goodbye, Marty.”

“Bye, Jen,” Marty whispered back, hugging her back as tight as he could.

When they finally parted, Jennifer looked into his eyes for a long moment, and then kissed his cheek. “Marty, can I ask you to do something for me?”

Marty blinked, not really sure what he could do, considering where he was headed. “Um, what?”

“Please try not to hate Tera,” Jennifer murmured. “She has so many people that hate her, and I couldn’t--”

“Hey,” Marty murmured, brushing her hair back from her face.

Her eyes lifted to look into his, warm and brown and shining with tears.

“I could never hate her.” At her questioning look, he said simply, “She’s the girl who saved your life.”

Jennifer bit her lip hard. “Marty…” She stepped away quickly, heading for the door.

“Hey, Jen?” Marty said quickly, trying not to lose his nerve.

Jennifer turned back to him. “Yeah?”

“If Tera wins…” Marty’s voice trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say. “Just-- don’t hate her either, okay?”

Jennifer’s eyes widened for a moment before tears ran down her cheeks. “I won’t.”

Marty sank down onto an armchair, burying his face in his hands. He was ready for this to be over, to just head for the Capitol and the arena and just get it all over with. It was bad enough seeing his family falling to pieces over it, but seeing Jen like that had been like a knife twisting in his gut.

He almost didn’t hear the door open again.

Marty sighed, sitting up straight and rubbing his face vigorously. It was probably the Peacekeepers ready to escort him to the Capitol. But when he saw who was entering the room, he couldn’t help staring at them.

They were three guys around Marty’s age, looking uncomfortable and wildly out of place in starched button-downs and wrinkled slacks as they slouched their way inside. After the door closed, they were left staring silently at each other for a minute before one of them, a tall guy with long, blond hair, reached up and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, revealing that his right ring finger ended in a nasty-looking stump.

“Rivet?” Marty blinked, turning to the other two. “Jackson? Ford?”

The other two, one reedy from being too tall and not having had enough to eat, the other built as solidly as a cinderblock house, shrugged and looked embarrassed.

“What’re you guys doing here?” Marty blurted out, still looking at the three of them in total confusion. “Not that I mind seeing you, but--” The silence that followed was filled with, ‘we’re not that friendly’, ‘we just play music together on Saturday nights’, ‘we don’t talk’.

Ford, the cinderblock with a high-and-tight tuft of black hair, cleared his throat, and traded looks with the other two. Then he looked around the room with forced casualness. “Geez, they don’t got nothing in here, McFly. What kind of digs is this?”

Marty blinked again, and shrugged. “I dunno. They’re not mine.”

Jackson looked around too before jamming his hands into his pockets and hunching his way over to one of the armchairs. He thumped on the back of it and frowned. “Not a lot of percussive whatsit, Riv.”

“Hey, there’s some wood here along the couch back,” Ford said, tapping it with a finger and squinting at it like a craftsman inspecting his handiwork. “Even if it ain’t the real thing, it should work.”

Rivet rolled his eyes and held up his hands in a ‘what’re you gonna do?’ motion to Marty. “We’ll have to make do, I guess.”

“Make do?” Marty echoed blankly, watching as the three of them lined up behind the couch.

Ford flexed his fingers with tiny little pops.

Rivet took out pens from his pocket and handed them out to the others.

Jackson turned his head from side to side.

“Son of a bitch, this is too early for this shit, y’know,” Jackson grumbled.

“Everything’s too early for your bony ass,” Ford snapped, aiming a swipe at Jackson’s hair and missing by a mile.

“C’mon, guys,” Rivet nagged. “Foreman’s gonna hear you, and we’re gonna get canned. Line up!”

Marty’s eyes widened.

Ford flipped his pen between his fingers and grinned at Marty. Then he tapped out a rhythm that was almost too fast for Marty’s eyes to follow. Rivet and Jackson soon followed, tapping out their own rhythms, but somehow, some way, they all blended together into a song that sounded like machinery, like the daily slog, but something more than that.

Marty had lost track how many times he had seen this. Every afternoon at 3:57, without fail, these three would stroll into the assembly line, all three in different stages of getting into their jumpsuits and putting on the rest of their caustic substances hazard gear. They would razz each other, take swipes that were too affectionate to be anything but verbal rough-housing, and then start the beat.

From what Marty could tell, the beat was supposed to be a way of getting into the mood. Hear the machinery around you, make the machinery part _of_ you, and maybe you’d be able to last the day without getting a finger ripped off. Rivet and Jackson would whistle, clap their hands, stomp their feet. Ford would drum out taps on any surface he could find, sometimes like loud door-slams, other times the rapid-fire tic-tic-tic-tic-tic of dozens of pistons all going at different speeds.

The message was clear. It’s time to go to work, earn just enough money to keep from starving too badly, and then go home.

By the time Rivet and Ford were insulting each other and Jackson was one-upping the other two, his pens almost a blur, Marty had bitten the inside of his cheek to keep from crying.

When Ford glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow, Marty collapsed into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

The beat continued on for a few more seconds before it faded off one pair of pens at a time. Finally, there were hands touching his head and shoulders gently, carefully.

“Keep an ear out for the last whistle, McFly,” Ford said gruffly.

Long seconds later, the door opened, and then closed quietly behind them.

Marty let out a small sob and ran his fingers through his hair.


	3. Getting On The Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time Marty's ever been on a train. He just wished it wasn't because of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Futurerae, as always, is the best beta to ever beta.
> 
> Also, look at the pretty art! Futurerae drew it for me, because she's lovely and amazing.
> 
> "But where do I find her to tell her that her art is pretty and amazing and I teared up a little?" you ask?
> 
> Right [here](http://mrmcflythrillme.tumblr.com)! (She also has lots of BTTF-related stuffs here. They are also nifty.)

The car ride from the Justice Building to the train station passed in a blur. The only things that registered was that all three of them -- Marty, Tera, and Ms. Clayton -- had been crammed in the backseat, and Tera’s eyes were wet from crying.

The second they climbed out of the backseat to the train platform, a wave of lights and people crashed over them as reporters shoved cameras in their faces and shouted all kinds of questions, probably at Ms. Clayton. Marty passed through them in a daze, his eyes trained on the brim of Ms. Clayton’s hat. He and Tera made it to the doors closest to the car, but before they were allowed inside, Ms. Clayton gently but firmly turned them around and murmured, “Smile for the cameras, dears.”

Neither of them did.

After all of the commotion on the platform, the train was blissfully cool, and disconcertingly quiet. It didn’t help that the train started moving the second the door closed behind them. Both Marty and Tera reached out to brace themselves against the nearest vertical surface, but traded a puzzled look when they weren’t immediately rocked off their feet by the speed of the train. Tera instantly scowled, turning and following Ms. Clayton without a word.

At something of a loss, Marty followed them through a narrow corridor between train cars and into a dining room where everything was polished to a mirror-like shine, and everything looked very breakable. There were a few boys and girls around their age, silently moving from the table to the door opposite them, carrying trays of food and numerous pitchers of different colors.

“Ah, excellent,” Ms. Clayton said with an audible note of relief. “Lunch is served. I’ll show you to your rooms first, however, so that both of you can freshen up a bit--” She looked at Tera’s dress critically before smiling pleasantly at the two of them. “And then one of the Avoxes can bring you back here.”

Marty could feel Tera practically vibrating with anger right next to him, and very carefully didn’t look at her. Sure, Tera looked a bit like an old woman in her dress, but Ms. Clayton hadn’t needed to say anything about it.

The rooms _plural_ that Marty was shown to included a bedroom, dressing area, and a private bathroom. He looked around in bewilderment. “Hey, Ms. Clayton?”

Ms. Clayton looked pleasantly surprised. “Yes, dear?”

“Who am I sharing this with?” Marty asked, staring at the mirror in the dressing area and wincing over how splotchy his face looked. He reluctantly turned away from his reflection to see Ms. Clayton look at him curiously.

“Sharing? No, dear, these rooms are yours,” she said almost gently. “The drawers have clothes that you can change into, and the shower temperature is adjustable.” She paused for a moment. “I can show you how to use the shower, if you like?”

Marty shook his head quickly. “I know about them, thanks.” At Ms. Clayton’s raised eyebrows, he stammered, “I’m friends with D-- I mean, Emmett. I’ve stayed over-- uh, he’s showed me how--” The longer he babbled, the hotter his cheeks got. The floor of the train wasn’t opening up under him fast enough.

“Ah.” Ms. Clayton smiled. “Say no more. Please meet us at the dining car when you’re ready.”

Marty’s smile was pained until the door closed after her, and he headed for the shower.

At home, they had a tiny bathroom where they bathed using a tin bucket, a hard-bristled brush, and a drain in one corner of the room. At Doc’s house in the Victors’ Village, though, the set-up was pretty much the same as the train. As Marty stood under the blast of warm water, he closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he was over at Doc’s place, taking a shower before he dodged Peacekeeper patrols to sneak back into his apartment complex in the middle of the night.

The trouble was, every once in a while, the train would sway just enough for Marty to feel it, and there went the illusion. With a long sigh, Marty washed quickly, dried off, and picked an outfit from one of the drawers -- a red shirt that felt like he was being wrapped in a hug, and soft denim pants.

When he emerged from his room, a young woman with blonde hair silently led him back to the dining car where Tera was already seated at the table with Beetee, Doc, and Ms. Clayton. Seeing an empty chair in front of Doc, Marty mentally shrugged and sat down, a bit surprised when the blond woman poured a glass of water for him and promptly walked away.

Watching her leave with a frown, Marty turned to find that Doc is staring at him with a curiously blank expression on his face.

“Sorry, Doc.” Marty shrugged self-consciously. He took his napkin, unfolded it, and placed it on his lap. “I guess I’m not used to be waited on.”

Doc blinked, as though he’d been snapped out of a daze. “Of course.” He nodded to the serving dishes already on the table. “Go ahead and serve yourself. There’ll be more soon.”

Marty could practically feel Tera staring at him, but he tried to ignore it as best he can. “Man, the Capitol knows how to put together a spread, huh?” he offered weakly in the face of all of the food, everyone sitting at the table, and Doc more formally dressed than Marty usually saw him. Marty speared a thin steak with a serving fork and transferred it to his plate carefully. “I wouldn’t be able to make half the stuff here--”

Doc stood up suddenly, laying his napkin next to his plate. “Please excuse me,” he muttered quickly before bolting from the room.

Marty noticed that Beetee and Ms. Clayton were also watching Doc leave. Tera’s attention was on her plate.

“I wonder if something’s upset his stomach,” Ms. Clayton murmured graciously before turning back to the table. “Well, he’ll have enough time to recover before we reach the Capitol.”

“Not sure how you’re going to recover from being a flake in a few hours,” Tera muttered, serving herself another slice of steak.

Marty bristled. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Tera raised an eyebrow at him. “Whaddaya think it’s supposed to mean, McFly? He was here two seconds before he ditched us, and I doubt it’s because of your color commentary.”

As much as Marty was getting more and more annoyed at his fellow tribute, he noticed that this had been the first time he’d heard her say more than few words. “He’s under a lot of pressure.”

“Are you shitting me?” Tera asked, cutting her steak and taking a bite. “We’re on a train heading for the Capitol. We’re going to be shoved into weird costumes, driven around on chariots, shoved into _more_ weird costumes, interviewed by a guy who cakes on white face makeup every year, and then dropped in an arena so we can die.”

Marty frowned. “And?”

“ _And_ ,” Tera said firmly, taking another bite. “What the hell does _he_ have to deal with?”

Years of watching Doc come home from the Capitol, hunched and defeated, came to mind instantly. And seeing as how Doc actually _knew_ him, this year was going to be even worse.

“Excuse me,” Marty snapped, throwing his napkin down next to his plate and standing up. “I’m not feeling very hungry.” Not bothering to look behind him, he left the train car, and started searching for Doc.

A train car or two later, Marty was fairly sure he was heading in the wrong direction when he noticed an open door, leading to a set of rooms. He peeked in, expecting to have found someone else’s rooms, but finding Doc instead.

The bedroom was spare -- a bed, a nightstand, a lamp. The shades on the windows were pulled down, reducing the room to the kind of darkness that felt forbidding. Doc himself was unnaturally still, a shadow in a shadow sitting hunched on the edge of the bed like a puppet with cut strings. The one spot of light in the entire room was where the light reflected off the glass tumbler resting against Doc’s thigh, held limply in one hand.

Doc may have been sitting in that room, but mentally, he was somewhere a lot worse. If Marty was going to have any chance of… Marty took a deep breath. Of spending his last days with his best friend, then he needed to bring Doc back. Watching Doc silently tear himself apart like this before Marty was even dead was worse than saying goodbye to his parents and Jennifer.

Marty slipped inside, leaving the door cracked behind him. “Doc?”

Doc lifted his head, his eyes somehow darker than the room. “Marty… You should eat.” He lowered his head again. “Keep your strength up.”

“Like the way you’re doing?” Marty asked. He moved closer, slipping the tumbler from Doc’s lax fingers, skin brushing skin. “C’mon, Doc, this isn’t you.”

“How would you know?” Doc murmured, sounding like he wanted to fight, but he was too tired to muster the energy.

Marty set the tumbler down on Doc’s night stand with a sigh. “Because you don’t want to miss a moment of what life has to offer. Even if it’s something horrible.”

Doc stared up at him, his expression a combination of betrayal and awe. “The one thing I’ve been reminded of every year is that you’re the one bright spot in my life. And now you’re here, and I...” He buried his face in his hands.

There had been exactly one time when Marty had seen him like this, five years ago when Doc had just returned from the Capitol. It had been horrible to see his best friend, who usually beamed at him like Marty hung the stars in the sky whenever one of his experiments was going right, look so… defeated.

“Doc?” Marty tried not to think of how small his voice sounded, and tried to focus more on how to help his friend.

Doc’s shoulders shook.

“Geez, Doc.” Marty sighed. “I'm sorry about what I said at the table." He gingerly rested a hand on Doc’s shoulder. “I was just trying to get rid of some of the tension, you know?”

Doc lifted his face, looking at up Marty with brown eyes wet with unshed tears. “You shouldn’t even be here,” he whispered brokenly.

“It’s okay, Doc,” Marty whispered back, feeling like speaking any louder would be too much for either of them. He felt a little sick at how he was repeating what he’d said to his mother, and how stupid it sounded. “It’ll be okay.”

Somehow, the reassuring tone made Doc’s face harden, and he looked like he did when he was introduced before the Reaping started, severe and judgmental and _pissed_. “It won’t be ‘okay’, Marty. You had twenty slips in that damn ball.”

Marty’s spine stiffened, and he tried to keep his head up. “Yeah, I did.”

Doc rose from his seat, nearly swelling with anger. “What, exactly, was the point of paying you to be my lab assistant if you weren’t going to take _the damn money?_ ”

“There’s a difference between somebody you hire to come in and take readings, and someone you care about, Doc!” Marty shouted back. “McFlys don’t take money from our friends! We take their kindness and we try to give back what we can, and we know it’ll never be enough!”

“Well, being a damn McFly is what’s going to get you _killed!_ ” Doc stopped suddenly, looking like he’d been punched in the gut. He swayed just a little on his feet before he sagged back down onto the bed.

“Doc…” Marty began, but he wasn’t sure what to say, what to do.

Doc visibly wilted, his gaze finding the carpeted floor. “I would’ve given you everything I had if it would have prevented this,” he whispered. “You’re going to be killed, and it’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Marty said firmly. “Whatever happens in that arena, it is _not_ going to be your fault.” He rested both of his hands on Doc’s shoulders, looking at him while Doc avoided looking back. “It’ll be all right.”

“How can it?” Doc asked miserably. “Marty, I’ve never brought a tribute back _alive_.”

“You’ll do it this year.” Marty’s stomach twisted at the lie, even as he squeezed his shoulder. These days in the Capitol before the Games started weren’t about trying to prepare. They were about soaking up as much of Doc’s presence as he could before he died horribly for somebody else’s entertainment. But there was no way that was going to happen if Doc was already grieving for him. So, Marty made his voice stronger, made it sound like he believed what he was saying. “We’ll figure out a way, right?”

“Marty,” Doc’s voice was strangled with tears that were starting to spill down his face. “You’re not _listening_ to me. I’ve _never_ \--”

“This year, you will.”

“Do you even _believe_ that?” Doc moaned. “For the past eleven years alone, it’s been Career tributes and--”

Marty filled in the blanks himself, and forced himself to be firm. “This year, you’re not trying to help some kid you don’t know--”

“No, I’ll be sending my only friend to his death!”

Marty kept himself from flinching, but just barely. “Do you think I don’t know that?” He grabbed Doc by both shoulders and shook him firmly. “Dammit, Doc!”

Doc stared at him for a long moment, angry and pinched before his will collapsed, and his lips twisted in an effort to keep from crying again.

Marty looked him in the eye for a long moment before giving in and drawing him close, cradling Doc’s head against his chest and sighing deeply. “Besides, I’ll probably last more than a day.” He smiled wryly, even though he knew Doc couldn’t see it. “It’ll be a personal best for District Three.”

Doc sighed against him, heavy and miserable. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near that arena.”

“I don’t _want_ to be, believe me,” Marty agreed, letting his fingers run through Doc’s hair. From far away, Doc’s hair looked like it was red with streaks of grey running through it despite the fact that Doc was close to his mid-thirties. Up close, his hair looked blond, like strands of sunlight reflecting off metal in the junkyard near their apartment complex.

Doc’s arms lifted and wrapped themselves around Marty’s waist, clinging to him like Doc couldn’t bear to let go. Marty couldn’t say he blamed him.

"Doc…” Marty murmured. Doc’s hair felt soft under his fingers. “It's okay."

"No, it's not," Doc whispered back, like they were sharing a secret.

"Doc, no, really--" Marty carefully stroked a lock of hair away from Doc’s face. "Here, let's try this. Close your eyes."

"They're already closed,” Doc said mulishly.

Marty snorted, smiling a bit despite how messed up everything was. "All right, fine. Then listen. Can you hear my heart beating?"

"... your pulse is fast." Doc sounded mildly curious, which was a step up from the abject misery he’d been in since this conversation had started.

"Well, uh,” Marty tried to think of something other than _I don’t get to hold you like this very often, and I might have a crush on you the size of the moon._ “You kind of scared me with ditching lunch like that. I wasn't kidding about that food looking really good."

"I apologize.” Doc sounded tired. “You should eat."

"I like eating with friends,” Marty said, fighting down a shrug because he didn’t want to dislodge Doc. “Or with family, as long as they're not annoying.” He leaned down, whispering conspiratorially. “Whaddaya say?"

"Marty, I can't--"

"Doc, you don't build a car by painting the frame. You have to start with the engine block." He stroked Doc’s hair a few times, letting his fingers trace the streaks gently. "I know you're scared. I am too. But as long as my heart's beating, I'm gonna be right by your side. As long as I can."

"Heart beating..." Doc murmured almost sleepily.

"Yeah, Doc." Marty whispered back, closing his eyes and pressing his nose against Doc’s hair, the scent of shampoo reminding him of the countless hours they’d spent bent over some crazy experiment at Doc’s place. “My heart’s still beating.”

  
[](http://imgur.com/f1YdeCm)  
  


Doc tensed in his arms. "... Marty, that's it."

"Huh?" Marty blinked.

"The way to get you home." Doc pulled back, looking up at Marty with determination in his eyes. "We have to get the audience's hearts beating."

Marty frowned. "I think you lost me there."

"You need to have someone so important to you that the audience will move heaven and hell to help you get back to them," Doc explained quickly, sounding just like he did when he had a breakthrough on one of his inventions.

Marty backed up a step, one hand rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "Uh, like who?"

Doc frowned, thinking it over. "Is there someone you care for? Possibly love romantically? Capitol citizens seem to be fans of romances, especially ones where someone faces impossible odds to return to their lover."

Marty hoped he wasn’t blushing because he knew exactly one person who fit that criteria, and he wasn’t sure how Doc would react to finding out it was him. "Uhhh, I'm not sure?" he offered weakly.

Doc got up from the bed, still frowning, and started pacing. "Quite understandable, albeit frustrating. Let's try broadening the search. Is there someone that you could name with absolute certainty who you would wish to see everyday for the rest of your life?"

"That seems..." Marty sat down on the foot of the bed when the realization hit him. "Oddly specific?"

Doc made a disgusted face. "The Capitol audience also crave what they perceive to be happy endings. In the event of your victory, if you discover an inherent incompatibility between yourself and the person you choose, there could be... dire consequences."

"... so, wait, they’d be forced to stay with me?” Marty felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. “For the rest of their life?"

"If the person you choose doesn't mind, then it's not that much of a hardship. You’re a very charming, intelligent young man, after all." Doc shrugged before he looked sternly at Marty. "This is of the utmost importance, however. You need to be sure, completely sure, that the person you name is going to be someone you want to share your life with."

"But if they're being forced to stay with me--" Marty began.

Doc shook his head, resting his hands on Marty's shoulders. "Marty, stop. First, can you think of someone, yes or no?”

Marty’s gaze found the floor. “I guess.” He didn’t want to ever imagine Doc feeling _obligated_ to stay with him, but he knew that he didn’t want to live the rest of his life without Doc in it.

“Do you think that person would be willing to go along with it, if it meant saving your life?”

Marty’s eyes snapped back to Doc’s, startled by the question. “Yes.”

Doc nodded firmly. “Then we have something resembling a plan.” When Marty opened his mouth to start objecting again, Doc shook his head. “I know, but right now, we need to get you out of the arena alive. We can focus on the ramifications at a later time.”

Marty sighed. “Okay, then how do we get me out alive?”

“First, we have lunch,” Doc said reasonably. “I wasn’t kidding about keeping your strength up.”


End file.
